Every once in a while, I’ll throw a line out to a really big fish. Maybe it’s a CIO of a mega health system, maybe it’s someone who’s been interviewed by outlets like Forbes and the New York times. Sometimes both. When this happens, I don’t expect a response. Not because I don’t think our publication is worthy of their time (I most certainly do), but because I understand that these are some of the busiest people on the planet. Their days are scheduled far in advance, and this doesn’t include all the last-minute issues that arise.
I picture their calendars looking something like this:
And so, when I get not just a response, but one indicating interest, I’m elated, and I immediately spring into action for fear that I lose the bite. Right away, I check my schedule and fire off a list of available times to the admin, willing the fish to stay on the hook. Once a date and time is booked, I exhale and put a note in my calendar to develop a list of questions. (At this point, I blow out the candles I’ve lit and cancel the witchcraft spells).
But once in a while, I hit a snag. Before I can get to the big fish, I must first get through some obstacles. It reminds me of a show my husband and I watch called Wicked Tuna, which chronicles several fisherman based in Gloucester, Mass., in their quest to haul in tuna. One catch can reel in as much as $20,000 for the captains and their crew, while an empty net can be devastating. The really compelling part — besides the New England accents, which I love — is the blood, sweat and tears that goes into every decision, from where to drop anchor to the precise second to throw the harpoon. While one or two people hold the line (no easy task with a tuna that weighs 700 pounds), the captain is at the wheel, fighting to keep the ship in position and avoid anything that can interfere with the line. It’s absolutely heartbreaking when a piece of debris, an anchor from a neighboring ship, or a shark causes it to snap (and the captain to lose out on a big payday).
To these men and women, however, it’s all part of the job. They know from their first time as a deckhand that it’s their job to do everything possible to keep the line intact, and that sometimes, despite their best efforts, it’s going to break.
It’s a feeling I know well. Of course, in my role I’m not in danger of losing a catch that’s going to feed my family for a month. But if I play my line wrong, I could lose an interview that would be a big get for the publication. How would I do this? But failing to navigate the obstacles, which, in some cases, is the media relations departments that might intercept my request and lay down some rules before I can reel in the CIO.
Now, let me be clear. I have tremendous respect for the role that media relations play in filtering the many requests executive leaders receive, and identifying which are worth their time. I understand that it’s no easy task, and that it often puts them in a difficult position (“I’m sorry, John can’t speak with you Wednesday. He’s meeting with Obama.”). Still, it was pretty humbling when a few weeks ago I was told by a rep that I’d have to speak with him before my request was pushed up the ladder. I was, to put it mildly, annoyed. I could picture my younger, less seasoned self saying, “Are you serious? I just spoke with Tim Stettheimer, and now I’m being pre-screened? Forget it!”
Luckily, I’ve matured a bit (at least, I like to think I have). Before firing off an angry response, I thought about it, and decided that although it would create some extra work for me, this catch was worth the fight, and I wasn’t going to let ego get in the way. And so I had the call with the media rep, who couldn’t have been more gracious as he explained just how inundated they get with calls and emails from reporters, many of whom expect instant results. Maybe they haven’t yet realized that if you want to land a big fish, you need to invest a whole lot of time and hard work — and toss the hubris overboard.
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